Last Joy of the Lifetime
by Protege
Summary: Post “Hannibal”: after 14 years Hannibal decides to end this life, but his old friend forses him to go to Nice. Who is he going to find there? COMPLETE.
1. The Shelter of Marginals

Last joy of the lifetime.  
(fanfic 'bout H&C)  
in several chapters (10 planning).  
  
Summary: Post "Hannibal": after 14 years Hannibal decides to commit a suicide, but his old friend forses him to go to Nice. Who is he going to find there? R&R.  
  
Disclaimer's Note: As You have probably understood, I do not own anything that belongs to Mr. Thomas Harris. However I DO own some main characters, like Angie, Felix, Ruben and the Cat. I am not making profit of using Hannibal and Clarice characters, I've borrowed them just for Your fun.  
  
Author's Note: Well, what can I say? I know, my interpretation of Clarice is quite unusual, but I hope you like it. The story first seemed to consist only of 4 chapters, but the more I work, the more the characters seem to find adventures, sometimes even on the wrong side of justice. So I guess there will be approx. 10 chapters. Again I'm not making profit of quotating – some songs, writers, books are mentioned here, but I will try to avoid this as much as possible. Please, read and review – I appreciate your attention. And – try to get more fun out of life /grin/.  
  
Chapter I. The Shelter of Marginals.  
  
"How 'bout going to Nice?" asked Dr. S., 'the-man-having-his-own-opinion- about-everything'. "It's a great place. Have you ever been to Nice?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you certainly know 'bout "The Shelter". Everyone, who's been to Nice knows this place."  
  
Though Dr. S. was one of his best friends here, in Peru, sometimes he was quite annoying. Especially those days when he has a date with a new student body – mostly those girls were less than 22, blondes, blue eyes... Barby dolls. Those Dr. S. feels 'happy' and tries to make everyone around happy too – in an odd way. Now Doctor's trying to give him the ticket to Nice.  
  
"No, I haven't heard about the shelter, my dear friend. I am sure there is a shelter for dogs, because nowadays these little creatures lose their owners more often..."  
  
"Hey, I've never seen a man who doesn't know about "The Shelter". This is not what you think, old buddy. This is a coffee-shop."  
  
"There are lots of coffee-shops in Nice. And Sally, I appreciate you not calling me 'buddy'. You know I don't like that."  
  
"O'K, I didn't mean to insult you," Dr. S. grinned. Sometimes Hadrian was unbearable. Dr. S. was sure his friend had lost a taste of life and that really hurt him. Hadrian seemed to fade, the spring seemed to come and there was something wrong about that. "But I'm sure you have to visit it. "The Shelter" is the place for gourmets like you. The cook there is worth of every praise visitors leave in the guest book... And the owner is a well- read, broad-minded and very beautiful person."  
  
"So the owner is a woman."  
  
"Yes! A remarkable woman I must tell you! She's the most interesting person I've ever met – except you, of course. And a perfect hostess."  
  
"Hmm, knowing you I would say this place is rather a public house than a coffee-shop."  
  
Dr. S. laughed until he understood that maroon eyes became almost black of anger. 'The awakening of a maniac' – that's how he called such his firend's look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Hadrian. I know you don't like women. But this woman is a great one." Doctor saw Hadrian looking at his watch. "Are you in a hurry?"  
  
"Yes, I've promised to pick up some books in the shop at two."  
  
"Thank you for a company! See you again tomorrow!"  
  
"Good-bye, Sally."  
  
Dr. S. watched Hadrian going away. When that man came here, he was full of life and energy. Now he is saying "Hallo" to the Death. And Dr. S. couldn't deny the thought – Hadrian IS willing to die.  
  
Hannibal was walking down the street, not noticing the birds, singing, the trees greening, the flowers spreading most wonderful fragrances – nature's rebirth, which happens every spring. Not for him anymore. Maybe even the very next day is not for him.  
  
It suddenly occurred to him that he's lost the taste of life. Nothing interested him – drinks, food, books, people – all this was a dust in the sand-glass. He hadn't lived, he only existed since that time. The time at the Chesapeake.  
  
"Would you ever say to me, stop if you loved me you'd stop?" – the slight echo of the memory. "Stop if you love me!" she answered. His little Clarice Starling. She tried to kill him some minutes before those words. How could he know she would choose not to be with him? Everything seemed perfect that time. They escaped, leaving Krendler on his own, they went to a house he had rented for that occasion, they were making love. Even now he couldn't forget her beautiful blue eyes, slightly covered by a cornflower haze of lust, her soft lips, her quiet voice whispering his name again and again, her silken skin, her body exposed to his, the taste of her tears on his tongue... They lay on a silken sheet, planing their future life, then she got asleep and he, wishing to accomplish his dream to wake up with a woman he loved beside him, also fell asleep.  
  
And when he woke up, she was gone.  
  
It's only morning, he thought. I could still find her. But then he looked at his wrist-watch... and couldn't believe his eyes. He had been sleeping for almost 18 hours. After a closer examination he found the thing he was searching for. Clever girl, she injected him morphine before leaving. He went to the kitchen to make a so-called breakfast – and found the plain white envelope on a kitchen table. She wrote him a letter. It was his prerogative to write her, so he thought one more time about how much they are alike.  
  
"Dear Hannibal!  
  
I'm leaving with only one hope – you will not appear in my life again and I'll try to do the same. Last night I understood that I belong to you too much. Too much of what I can afford. I'm running in order to save you – and me. There cannot be 'us' in this world. I cannot be yours.  
  
Last night when you were sleeping I was thinking about us. About you and your instincts of predator. Of your willing to hunt. Of your abilities to conquer. And I ask myself – how long will you love me? What does 'forever' mean to you anyway? I really don't think it means much.  
  
We're one, but we're not the same, Hannibal. I don't know what intends to come after your lust is gone. You'll get bored of me. And if you don't – I'll embarrase you. I have too many habits I can't give up. Because then it's not me. You love classical music – I love rock and alternative. I am used to waking up early in the morning and singing in a shower. I am used to sitting in front of TV with Jack Daniels and watching dirty comedies. I am not used to changing my clothes before every meal. But most of all – I am running to chase, not to escape. I need action. That's just a part of my nature. And I know you want a different life. If you remembered a story with two fish you would know exactly what I mean. I can change, but then I won't be myself – the woman that you love and the woman that loves you.  
  
Always yours,  
  
C."  
  
He knew she was right. But the pain couldn't diappear because of that. Two months he spent on reading the mass-media gossips. He got to know FBI threw her away with nothing. But she didn't call him. Then came the night he suddenly realised there is no more connection between them. And he did the only right thing he could. Some of his money were transferred to her account and then he disappeared with no willing to hear anything about her. It was his girl's choice.  
  
It was late in the evening, some would say it was already a night when he took his Harpy. He kne what to do – lying in a hot bath for two hours, drinking wine... It was so easy to die like that – watching his own blood flowing away through his veins, mixing with red wine and water, feeling at the same time weak and light, learning to fly...  
  
The phone rang. After usual five calls the messenger worked: "Hallo, you've reached Hadrian Mofet, unfortunately I speak only with those who alert me about them calling. Please, leave the message and I'll call you back." Then at the other end of the line the familiar voice said: "Hi, you've made an order of a table at "The Shelter of Marginals" for the whole day next Tuesday. I'm calling to verify if that's O'K. Please call me back..."  
  
He knew that voice. He knew that voice better of all in the world.  
  
He was going to Nice. 


	2. The Creature

Thank you for encouraging me to continue, especially those, who found time not only to read, but to review. The following chapter had lots of variants, but my characters've chosen this one – especially Angie, who kept me awake for the whole night with this... Disclaimer applies /grin/.  
  
Chapter two. The Creature.  
  
The usual noise of the airport brought him back to reality. He was in Nice. For the whole week he could think only about her – because it was HER voice he had heard. Next day he redialed and spoke with a very pleasant man, who checked with the papers. "Yes, the owner of "The Shelter" called you, but an urgent business meeting made her go to Paris. She'll return in five days." Also he said he would be very glad to do everything for Dr. S.' best fiend. Absolutely everything? Even the breakfast at eight, though "The Shelter" opens at nine? Yes, even that.  
  
Hannibal wanted to see her. Somehow he was absolutely sure it was her voice on the phone. His little Starling found him. Even if she didn't want to. Her voice softened, got deeper. She must be in her 40s now, how does she look?...  
  
And he was in Nice. Again, after seventeen years he inhaled the unique scent of the city. They say New York is the city of contrasts. What is Nice then?... The sun made everything glitter, but one could just wait until the sun's down. Then he would see a real Nice. Nightlife for tourists. Red- lights' street. Ugliness of the night instead of the beauty of the day. Not all that glitters is gold.  
  
But Clarice was gold. She shone even on her worst days. And her magic smile, which he saw only once – when her eyes were closed and she dreamily spoke about them going to Paris. It was a light soft smile, calling out a memory of something aerial.  
  
And today was the very day they'd meet. The very morning. He arrived at 6.30 – quite enough time to catch a taxi, drop in the appartment he had rented, have a shower and change clothes. Ah – and take off this camouflage – moustache and false blond hair.  
  
But as he was almost there, sudden thought came into his mind. The thought which quietly waited for the hour to appear at the scene: what if she refuses again? What if after all those years she didn't change her mind? What if she found a new love? Whant if she doesn't need him?...  
  
By the time he rang the bell he had come up with a decision. He will look at his little Starling. Only look – and disappear. That's all he needed – because that's all he could ever have.  
  
The place was amazing. "The Shelter" completely proved it deserved the name – only marginals had to be rich. Soon he discovered it's not nessessary. Some meals were expensive, but most of all were accessible for students. If only this place is for students, he thouhg.  
  
Hannibal chose to sit in the Green Hall. Well, the 'hall' may sound enormously compared with this tiny room, he thought, but he couldn't call This a room either. Clarice called a great designer with plenty of fantasy. Wall and ceiling were of aquamarine colour, looked like there were no wall- paper at all – just a little baby was given the task to paint the walls and did it in his own childish way. It was charming. There was a huge wooden table in the centre of the room – and six chairs for those who wanted to dine in a big company. Old black "Zimmermann" just against the table where he was so kindly seated by a young waiter. Two lampshades, showing views of plantations in Southern States. Big charcoal portrait of Che Gevara. Some other paintings, wooden bar with bottles exposed. Every piece of furniture in the Hall was made of dark wood – except the low armchair, tiny and elegant, standing in the corner between the bar and the piano. The low table near it. This was Clarice's place, Hannibal thought instantly. He could imagine her sitting there in a long white saronge and linen shirt, the upper button unfastened, exposing her long white neck... No, he thought. That's not Clarice. That's how I want to see her. That's why she ran away...  
  
Only to come up to this kind of life?... He was now sure she found someone. Only love could do such a miracle. And that means she didn't love him so much to change. He sighed and began observing the menu.  
  
Suddenly he heard The Noise. Something big and black rushed headlong out of the kitchen only to catch the back of the chair on its way and abruptly brake. Then it flopped down the chair, exposing its back to Hannibal. Only then he could see it was a girl with remarkable black curled hair and tanned skin. She must be a bit over thirteen he decided, according to the clothes she was wearing. Not completely a woman, but already not a small girl.  
  
The creature took the guitar from the wall not even caring to rise from the chair, ran over the finger-board to make sure everything was OK and accompanied herself wih the song: "Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me..." She stopped in the middle of the song just to scream out loud: "Ruben! Where's my coffee!"  
  
The man in a cook uniform rushed from the kitchen. He was about fourty- five, Armenian, getting bald. Could Clarice?... No, I won't believe that, Hannibal thought.  
  
"Behave youself, young lady! We have a visitor!"  
  
"I won't. Until I get my coffee. And – no Armenian ass will teach me how to behave!"  
  
Hannibal chuckled. The Creature was so rude... but she wasn't Ruben's daughter. He couldn't magine a daughter speaking with her father like that.  
  
"Angie! How could you?"  
  
And who's that? Hannibal turned to the sound of the voice. Male, about 35, mulatto. Hannibal quickly took the morning paper from the table to pretend he is quite indifferent to the situation. The Creature was rude, discourteous – but he already felt the strong sympathy for her, and couldn't explain the reason of this feeling.  
  
"Angie!", repeated mulatto, "How could you say it to Ruben?"  
  
"Felix! You weren't supposed to be here so early! The very day I inherit the family business I will force you to give up the early taking to school."  
  
Felix grinned – but only for a slight moment. Then his face became serious. "Angie. Where have you been last night?"  
  
"I don't have to tell you, do I?" Angie's voice seemed cold and absolutely indifferent. And for the first time in his life Hannibal couldn't understand why. Of course, he could make a quess, but couldn't tell the reason at once as he usually did.  
  
"You don't have to. But you have to tell your mother about it."  
  
So it's Clarice's child. Hmm, she didn't care much to bring up her daughter right way. He would never allow his daughter to behave like that.  
  
"I don't have to tell her. She comes back from her stupid Paris only at two. By that time I'll be at school. And if you don't say anything she will never know."  
  
"And how long are you going to disguise? I know where you have been – and this place is certainly not for you."  
  
"What place?"  
  
"We have a visitor... I'm sorry we've spoiled your breakfast. And the child is sorry too. Angie?"  
  
And it was the first time he saw the Creature's face. She was a child of Clarice – it could be seen at once. She, however, inherited black hair from somebody else. He was quite right about her age – and her black T-shirt proved it by the self-made inscripton: "Good Angel – Dead Angel" and black mirrored sunglasses, completely hiding her eyes.  
  
"Sorry to spoil your breakfast", Angie repeated in a low voice. "Good luck to you during the meeting. But remember – it is useless to behave in life and at the hippodrome the same way. She gave a cheerful smile – and disappeared behind the kitchen door.  
  
Hannibal sighed. Maybe this Creature was just an obsession. A hallucination. But it wasn't. So Clarice is going to be here at two. He could stay here and wait, but then he decided there would be too much people. Every table was reserved. Sooner or later people would gather here for breakfast – and he had his reservation for the whole day. He would eat and then find the Creature. Hannibal somehow felt she was in the right mood to tell him about Clarice. And the Creature... was an interesting object to study. 


	3. Q&A?

Hmm, the weather which makes me sit at home, leaves no choice, but to write. Again thanks for those who reviewed – pol, lecterlove, Clariz. I'll try not to disappoint you this time. Now this chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I just couldn't – my computer also deserves rest. Disclaimer applies /sad grin/.  
  
Chapter 3. Q&A.  
  
It was four o'clock and Clarice was still in the train. Everything would be allright, but Clarice missed her daughter. She couldn't think of anyone or anything, even Hannibal Lecter, who seemed to arrive in Nice today. Well, actually he might be very suriprised right now...  
  
Angie. Where was she last night?  
  
Felix called her in the morning and told about the quarrel. When he described the 'face of nice old gentleman' after Angie's remark about 'the important meeting', Clarice gave a small laugh. It's time to tell her some people don't like interfering in their lives.  
  
Angie was all she had. "Children should be spoilt – only then they become true highway robbers!" she thought. Clarice let Angie do whatever she wanted – except of some certain things like not giving promises when Angie knew she wouldn't accomplish them.  
  
"She's so pretty now... this might end not in a right way." Sometimes Clarice wished Angie's father was there. Just to see how his daughter grows, sometimes to advise, sometimes to help, sometimes to protect her. And – to protect Clarice from her own fears, sleepless nights, loneliness. But – it was her own choice. She lives a public life. In a crowded place. This life is not for him.  
  
Two o'clock in Venice – and this is the time when Clarice arrives, he thought. But he is not at the station – he is on the beach. He was following Angie – at eleven she fled from school, went to the supermarket, bought some buns and a green bottle of chemicals with a slight taste of lemon – a drink, called lemonade. Then she went to a beach. He was sure she knew she was followed by.  
  
She took the book outside her funny bag, unpacked the buns and started reading, He was curious of what this Creature is reading and came closer.  
  
"Curiosity is not a sin, but it's a great swinishness," she said.  
  
"How did you know I was here?" Hannibal was surprised.  
  
"What do you want?" she replied.  
  
"Tsk, tsk. Let me meet the one who taught you the manners. I should have a serious talk with that man."  
  
"He died," said the Creature. "I exchange information. I trade it for my own needs. It's useless to ask me giving nothing in return."  
  
"Who died? Your father?"  
  
"I'm not saying anything more," she replied. They both remained silent a little. Then she offered him to sit, showing the place on the rug, still not saying a word. He sat near her and asked:  
  
"Aren't you afraid of me? Well, I believe girl spending the night outside of her home isn't afraid of all the crime around, but you should keep up to some rules..."  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt you. But all the formality stinks. You use three and a half words instead of one. If I were afraid of you I'd call the police at once."  
  
"And what would they charge me with, umm?"  
  
"I don't know," he couldn't see her eyes, but her voice softened a little. "But I strongly believe somebody would recognize your face, which is certainly put in FBI wanted list. If it's not a Most Wanted List," she added after thinking a bit. "Wanna eat?"  
  
"I don't eat buns, thank you." he replied.  
  
"Where are your manners now?" she grinned. "One should thank for an offer first, and only then admit in something. And you could at least think out an unreal allergy to something before refusing."  
  
Hannibal was confused. He considered himself an expert in manners, but this little Creature got him. Maybe he's getting too old to notice such things before saying something...  
  
"You're not." Angie read his thoughts. "You're just not concentrating. Sometimes a man needs home. Just to relax, to forget formalities, to feel happy in spite of all in the world. You haven't had a home for a long time, almost for all of your life. That's why you're sitting here."  
  
"And you're sitting here because you have no friends to go out with," he replied. "Boys want your sexuality, because you look older for an inexperienced eye. Girls are envying you. You know what you look like to me? You look like a little beast, easily becoming brutalized by every word or even unspoken intention which does not suit you.You rely more on your senses that on your mind. But you are much weaker than you want to seem. Someday somebody will come and break your life into pieces, and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it."  
  
"Guess you are that 'somebody'," she wasn't smiling, when she said: "nd if I'm a little beast, my father was a big one I suppose."  
  
"Who was your father?"  
  
"As I've already said, I do not exchange THAT kind of information without a trade," she said. Quid pro quo, if you know Latin."  
  
Hannibal was shocked. He returned to the past just for the moment. He had offered the same to Clarice, and now her child is offering the game to him. How much does she know about me, he thought. She felt his hesistation and for an instant put her palm over his: "There's nothing to be afraid of. Don't you think I'm telling somebody's secrets?"  
  
"And what secrets do you want me to unveil for you, little girl?"  
  
"Angie, I suppose, sounds better. What's your name?"  
  
"Hadrian," he didn't hesistate. Who knows, this child might go to police if she decides it is the right thing to do...  
  
"Emmm... So your name begins with letter "H". You really should think out a different nam, this one sounds too soft for you. Mine's Angel."  
  
"Angel?" He grinned. "Dead Angel?"  
  
"Simply Angel. But I prefer people calling me Angie. They can't get used to my T-shirt inscriprions. You've come to meet with my mother, don't you?"  
  
"Yes. Who's your father?"  
  
"How am I supposed to know?" she replied causticly. "At that moment I had no eyes to see who he was. My mother isn't married, if that's what you wanna know. Are you an old pal of hers?"  
  
"Yes, something like that." An old pal – what a crazy expression. "But it was long ago, you weren't born that time, when she was an FBI agent."  
  
"WHAT? Who? My mother? I can't believe it!" she seemed like losing her mind.  
  
"You didn't know?"  
  
"I didn't. Mum doesn't like to speak 'bout her past." Her face was becoming dangerously pale.  
  
"Are you all right?" Hannibal became worried. Who was he to interfere in Clarice's and Angie's life?  
  
"I'm OK. Just thinking about a serious talk... with no result again." She sighed. "nd who are you? A criminal, who she caught? You're out of prison and came to kill her for that?"  
  
He didn't know what to say, because he realised the mistake he did. Suddenly she gave him a wink: "This is an awkward situation. One of our cell phones should ring to get us through this, umm?"  
  
Her cell phone rang. 


	4. Opportunities Brains & looks

Emmm... well, should I continue?...  
  
Perhaps, Disclaimer applies to this chapter too...  
  
Chapter 4. Opportunities.  
  
Sticky obtrusive melody of the ringtone reminded Hannibal he never liked popular music. On the contrary Angie got very excited, she even started to sing to the melody: "Mama, I love you, mama, I care..." Then she turned to Hannibal and said: "Well, it's my mom calling. You got your chance to speak. Wanna?"  
  
"O'K." he grinned. That would be fun – the last time when she called and he answered was when he intended to through that annoying Pazzi from the balcony with his caecum out, and now there's another annoying telephone owner who earned his great respect in no time. How long it will take to Clarice to come here, searching for her child only to find her in the company of the Cannibal?...  
  
Angie gave him the phone. He answered and heard Her voice at once. Actually he was always ready to listen to the melody of her beautiful voice, not capturing the gist, only dissolving in the flow of the sound... But now it was the game. Does Clarice get more fun out of life? The fun he had so obviously prescribed – the recipy which she probably never brought to the drug store.  
  
"Angie, this time you've got really mad. Ruben is insulted, Felix feels uncertain whether you've been at home last night, and I think you've not. I don't know what kind of problem do you have, but I'm sure we can find a solution together, and you don't need to make people, who love you, be so worried. Guess, you're not at school either. Where are you? Where can we meet and talk?"  
  
He didn't say anything. Angie starred at him, her sunglasses – the other ones, little lighter, the colour of her eyes still not being seen, - hid the childish curiosity which he hould smell with every breath he took.  
  
"Angie, where are you?" Angie thought a little, then rested her chin on his shoulder – just to listen to the conversation, she whispered. "Angie, what happened?"  
  
"Good afternoon, Clarice," Hannibal murmured. "Enjoying your life and being a good mother?"  
  
"Where's Angie?" she nas never been so scared, he admitted to himself.  
  
"Clarice, I should admit, your café-shop is perfect. I've seldom eaten such delicious breakfast. Perhaps I'll come to dine, especially because I still have my reservation."  
  
"Where's my daughter, doctor Lecter?" Clarice repeated, getting calm. She perfectly knows it's no use in getting angry, he thought. She was always a clever girl, now she, perhaps, became a clever woman...  
  
Angie rose, her mouth slightly opened. Hannibal tried, but he couldn't smell a fear. Little Creature, he thought, why aren't you afraid of me?  
  
"Now, Clarice, I don't think you should worry. This beast is certainly in a great need of psychotherapy. The sooner – the better."  
  
"Where are you both?"  
  
"Hmm. Let's pretend I don't know Nice so well..." it was a pleasure to tease his little Starling again. "I'll give you two hours to find us. You have plenty of time. One minute late – and we're not here. Tic-toc, tic-toc."  
  
"Get your fucking hands off my daughter!" she yelled. He could smell Clarice's fear even from such a distance... or is his memory playing tricks on him again? That night at Chesapeake – he could smell her fear combined with lust. Now it's only fear.  
  
"I'll punish you for that, Clarice. You know, it's not the right way to speak to an old friend. Let's say, 15 minutes less. Ta-ta."  
  
"So you are Hannibal Lecter... that IS your name," he forgot about the girl. And she was absolutely still, not giving any sign of fear or exhilaration. "That explains a lot. Where will we go when the time's over?"  
  
'You mean she won't find us?"  
  
"Precisely. And don't be surprised. She thinks I hate sea."  
  
"Don't think your mother is stupid, Angie..." Hannibal sighed.  
  
"I don't. But until she realises we're here, she will have visited two more places. That will took her 20 minutes to get here from the closest one. She will be out of time for 4 minutes, because of the fine you gave her."  
  
"You know Nice well" Hannibal said, smiling. But I know it even better. I can actually say where would she go in search for you."  
  
"Useless usage of words, remember?" she hissed. She had courage to hiss at him.  
  
"Now tell me why are you so calm? Aren't you afraid I'll eat you when the time is up?" there was something about this girl. Something Hannibal couldn't understand.  
  
"Why should I?" She replied. And we were playing OUR game, remember? We still have plenty of time to play it."  
  
"What do you want to know?"  
  
"You're telling me about my mother. Who she was before me. I tell you about my mother – who she is now. If she is late, I tell you the most important thing you should know. If she comes in time – we'll see then. And – don't lie me. I'll know."  
  
"Shouldn't I be the one to set the rules?" he stared at her with a surprise, slightly shown.  
  
"No. Because I'm a lady. And you're a gentleman," she replied.  
  
He had no words for what she was. Pure genius.  
  
"Brought up with all the love which mother, Felix and Ruben could give." She read his thoughts. "When my father died, she discovered, she inherited a large sum of money. Then she decided to go travelling. Just the time she was pregnant. She was in London, in Paris, then she visited Nice – and that's where I decided to stay. She told me she couldn't leave this place. She had aches right when the plane or train were going to leave, so she was always late for them" Creature grinned. "After lots of unsuccessful tries she lost the will to fight and settlet here. Felix was the man, who brought her to the hospital, when the Process began. Ruben was his close friend. They both looked after my mother till she was in hospital. And when she was out, invited her – and me – to live with them. Then they co-operated: middle-aged woman with a daughter and money, the pianist and the cook. They three are the only family I know – and the only I got."  
  
"Continue, "said Hannibal. Who of the two is Clarice's husband? Or none of them are?  
  
"None of them." Angie read his thoughts again. Neither Felix, nor Ruben are... she suddenly slapped her mouth with her palm. "Sorry, sometimes I forget who I'm speaking with."  
  
"Your mother established our friendship because of her frankness and courtesy. You don't seem to have the last. "  
  
"I DO have it, doctor." Angie snorted. "Someday you'll see it, but I'm not in the mood for it right now. Quid pro quo. Tell me now, how did you meet mummy."  
  
All good things for those, who wait, huh? I don't believe I'll manage to produce the next chapter tomorrow /grin/. You know, because of THE FILM. So... review, how's going. Maybe, I shouldn't continue? 


	5. Giving life

Who do you suppose I am? A producing machine? A robot? Well, robots usually don't drink brandy /grin/. Disclaimer applies. A/N: I haven't planned this. It has just dawned on me today. Don't blame Angie – she can't be good at everything. Everyone is a man, not a God.  
  
Chapter 5. Giving life.  
  
And he told her about his first meeting with little cub, which appeared to be Clarice. She listened, sitting on her knees, so close to him. Again, he couldn't guess her reaction. When he finished, he saw the strange smile on her face – a smile he recognized at once.  
  
"It's terrible. I mean the semen. Ugly. Now I understand why you decided to help her."  
  
"So you didn't tell me about Felix and Ruben."  
  
"And I won't. Because the relationships between them and my mother is called 'a very good friendship'. Nothing more."  
  
Hannibal wanted to argue, but something in the Creature's scent stopped him. He produced the best disarming smile he could – as if wanting to show he gave up his intention to know the answer. At once he felt that Angie became relaxed. "Who decided to name you Angie?"  
  
"Rolling Stones." You know, their most famous song was the first I've ever heard in my life. Mummy was confining hard, with pain. And when I finally saw the world this song was on the radio at hospital."  
  
"Clarice..." Hannibal thought. "American dream, sex, drugs, rock&roll..."  
  
"She taught me to read when I was two years old. After that she started to study herself. In ten years she got Doctor degree in philosophy."  
  
"Clarice? Got Doctor degree?..." he was shocked. "But what about the business?"  
  
"Well, she had plenty of time to read and study. Guess, it was the competition. Competition with my dead father. I still hear her late at nights talking to him. Mostly she's crying. Saying some stupid words like she didn't want to leave him, but she had to. Sometimes asking for advice. I have a strange feeling she hears him inside her head. A unique ability, I'll tell you. Absolutely marvelous. I wish I had it..."  
  
"Who was your father?" Who was this man? The man who took away his Clarice. Who was whispering her tender words late at nights? Who was at his place?...  
  
"Oh, he was Italian I guess," she smiled. "Just because I'm French."  
  
He was stunned. Either he is a complete fool or the Creature had a strange sense of humor.  
  
"But it's logical!" She saw the expression on his face or she read his thoughts. Since my mother is American, white trash, then my father must be Italian! You know the old joke: a Frenchman is really an Italian – only just in a bad mood."  
  
When he at last understood her, the grin was overtaking his gloomy face. Angie suddenly got pale. "I'm sorry, I don't feel so good. May I leave you for a while?"  
  
"O'K. But be back, because if Clarice comes and you're not here, she would be thinking I ate you. What will she do then, umm?"  
  
She was absent only for a few minutes. But he understood she vomitted. "Are you all right now?"  
  
"Guess so," she tried to smile. "Let's continue." Tell me what happened next. Did you help her to catch that criminal?"  
  
And he went on with the story. She listened to him, but he couldn't say whether her eyes were closed. Suddenly he discovered her little hand in his, after a few minutes – her head on his lap. And instantly – his strong need to protect her. Angie, he thought. Little daughter of Clarice. Who could be my daughter...  
  
"Angie, are you following me?" he asked, because for a few minutes she haven't given out nothing – just breathing quietly.  
  
"Umm, of course. When did you realise you loved mum?"  
  
Again she found out the main thing easily. "When she came to me after seeing the head in the garage. Her hair was wet, her foot was bleeding, she could catch cold, but instead of going home she went to asylum. To me. I understood then that she had a passion for her work, she loved what she was doing, and she devoted herself to the thing she loved. I've never seen anyone like her... she was the better side of me..."  
  
"And how can a man not love himself, umm?" she took off her sunglasses, but her eyes were closed and she wasn't intending to open them. "I can almost tell you what happened. You helped her. Then you ran away, but preferred not to risk yourself. You, of course, told your conscience she is happy without you. After some time you discovered she is not happy and came to offer her another life. And she refused, didn't she. Why? Because you offered her a complete destruction of what she lived for all those years. You know what they say – habit is another soul. And it was YOU who let her get this habit."  
  
"On the other hand," she continued, "she wouldn't let you kill anymore, so you didn't run after her when she refused. You were afraid to lose your freedom too. And what does your freedom consist of? Killing? You think you have the right to kill annoying people and you haven't discovered the greater pleasure yet. But don't you think that giving life is the greatest pleasure of all. Not taking, but giving! Seeing how the new life grows inside the woman you love! Seeing the birth of it, always being beside, watching how it grows, how it loves you for no reason at all – just because you are his or her father! Loving him or her – for no reason at all, just because it's a part of you!..."  
  
She cried and he couldn't help her. His heart ached for Angie. He held her in his arms, she hid her face in his lap. Suddenly he understood why she was feeling so bad.  
  
"You were here last night, weren't you? Your mother was in Paris and you discovered you are pregnant. He is older, married, already has his own children. You told him and he was frightened, he suggested you to go to doctor, but you don't want to."  
  
"I know this is not good. He's committed the crime, I will be expelled from school, my life and career will be over. I don't know what my mother will do to me. I only hope she won't throw me away, because she did her best to protect me from my own stupidity. I have only myself to blame... But I'll leave the baby."  
  
"How long?" he asked.  
  
"Seven weeks," she answered. "This is too easy for me, I wasn't feeling bad for a long time, I didn't want something special to eat. And now it's seven weeks. It already has a heart..."  
  
"And sex," he smiled. "Don't worry. We'll just stay here, waiting for your mother. We''l decide what to do. Don't worry." He stroke her hair from her tear-stained face. She opened her eyes and looked at him.  
  
Maroon.  
  
"My daughter," he said. "My little girl."  
  
What a spoilt brat this Angie is... /grin/. How's going? Should I continue? Or should I leave it like this? Need your reviews, like the air to breathe /smile/.  
  
Protégé. 


	6. One

A/N: if you can't guess what songs are mentioned here, I'm always at your service. D/N: still the same  
  
Chapter 6 is usually the worst – I mean, Devil brought me to some sort of crisis this time. I couldn't decide what to do – return to the original story or think of something new. Still waiting for your reviews /sad grin/. And thanx to those folks who reviewed me. Sorry for such a delay.  
  
Chapter 6. One.  
  
Clarice was in a hurry. Driving her exquisite Porche, smoking. She knew, Angie would understand Good Doctor is her father. But would she tell him this, or simply let him kill her? Or kill him herself?  
  
Sooner or later her instincts of predator, which she inherited from her father, would be awaken. Clarice knew it would happen that very time.  
  
And she regretted her decision much. What if she never left Hannibal? What if they lived like a family she always wanted to create? And they would always live in great fear. She was certain she would. Always running away from the police and FBI, always fearing the man whom she loved would start killing again... She lived in peace for thirteen years. And it was perfect. No more street crimes, no more killing... yet she lied in the letter to Hannibal. She wanted to be certain what the next day brings. Clarice realised it when she saw Krendler eating his brain. She wanted PEACE.  
  
How come he found her? How dare he play with what she loved most in her life? And how dare Angie play with fire... Clarice came to the thought she didn't know who wins in the battle: father or daughter? Angie was the strongest person she had ever seen in her life. When she was a little girl she never cried when falling. She was never afraid of anything, gold outside, iron inside. He either. Clarice wanted only to come in time, until those two start fighting.  
  
Meanwhile Angie's head was still put on Hannibal's lap, his hand in her long dizzy black hair, playing with them, stroking. It was an absolutely new feeling to Hannibal. Not the return of Mischa. Something much more great, much more interesting. He caught himself on a thought he wanted to know about absolutely every part of her life.  
  
"Do you draw?" he asked.  
  
"No," she replied. "I guess I am not talented at all. I am talented in singing. And you draw."  
  
"Why do you think so?"  
  
"Because now you're asking me about my life in an expectance of finding certain similarities in us. Don't get disappointed. Maybe it's just because I didn't have a qualified teacher..."  
  
"And what were you taught of?"  
  
"Many stupid things. Like playing piano. My mother plays and she repeated me from time to time that my father – meaning you? – also played. You do?"  
  
"I do. But I never knew she does."  
  
"Ah, it was in the orphanage. She played, but not good enough. She started studying again under Great Felix's supervision. They were often playing at nights – when they thought I was sleeping."  
  
"Why do you call him Great Felix?"  
  
"Hmm... he is a brilliant pianist. You should once listen. Anyway, after several years I understood I can't be good at this too. So I stole some money from my mother's purse and bought a guitar."  
  
"You did WHAT?" Hannibal had a feeling Clarice has spoilt the child.  
  
"Well, it was my milkmoney," she smiled. "When I refused to play the piano, mum was very angry. And she refused to give me any milkmoney for a whole month. But I was too impatient to wait when she calms down. So I took the cash and bought myself a guitar. This baby cost me a small fortune," Angie smiled softly, taking her guitar. "When mum got to know, she only smiled and said..."  
  
Hannibal screwed up his eyes, trying to imagine Clarice saying:"... children should be spoilt – only then they become true highway robbers...". "She couldn't say that. She wouldn't say that. It's not..."  
  
"Her style, umm? That's what you wanted to say? Well, it isn't. But then she said she'd prefer to see me robbing and killing than lying." Angie shrugged. "It took me months to understand what she had in mind. And it brought me to my own system of values. But that's boring..."  
  
"It's not boring for me. And never will be." Hannibal replied. "My own child who was brought up without my participation, is now pregnant and considers it normal. Does your physical state contents your "system of values" as you put it?"  
  
"Hey, Doc, I'll tell you when I need psychiatrist, okay?"  
  
"I would appreciate you calling me father."  
  
"Oh, right. I can't get used to the thought, you know. Emm, do you want me to sing for you? To show you can be proud of me, umm?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Angie's forehead covered with light wrinkles. Thinking what to choose, sweety? Hannibal was glad to give her those moments of pleasure, because he knew – it will soon end. Clarice should be told about everything. And if she only dare to show them the door! He will take Angie with him. He won't be loosing a chance again – to protect someone he loved. "It's a love song," Angie broke into his thoughts. "If you don't mind them actually."  
  
"No, I don't. I prefer classic, but I don't mind."  
  
"Classic? Hmm, you know, that music was once pop. A music for dansing, not listening. And all those operas are pop too. Only longer. The story which could be told in a three-minute variation is put into a three hour long huge, sometimes quite embarassing number of sounds."  
  
"Mmm, and what are you going to offer me? Something short, easy to understand... mass-media chewing gum, isn't it?"  
  
"Yup, something like that. And to prove you the guitar sounds better than the grand-piano. Even when Great Felix plays."  
  
Clarice was driving to the beach. It was obvious – she was there. With him. Clarice sighed. At least it's a public place, where none of them could lose their temper. Music will help her to relax. She turned the radio on and suddenly memories ruhed into her head, together with the music:  
  
"I could wait night and day Sigh your name when i pray In my heart night and day 'til you come my way I could wait night and day Be the sky blue or grey In my heart night and day For your love to stay"  
  
Angie finished tuning her guitar and cleared her throat. Hannibal looked at her. She was so beautiful – like his little Starling. Only her eyes were maroon, like his own. But he felt no pity for that. Angie had something inside – an ideal mixture of features which made her look and feel noble. Her easy-going with other people seemed only an ability of the mask, under what a real Angie is hiding. Did Clarice knew about that?... Perhaps, no. He smiled. It was his fate – always dealing with beautiful girls.  
  
And then she started to play and sing. He realised she was right about everything. Mass-media chewing gum put all his passion and willings into certain words. And Angie's voice was beautiful...  
  
"yeah it's hurting me morphing me and forcing me to strive  
  
to be endlessly caving in and dreaming of my love  
  
because I want it now I want it now give me your heart and your soul I'm not breaking down I'm breaking out that's when she'll lose control"  
  
...Clarice's cell-phone rang. It was Felix. She couldn't refuse answering, because they had an agreement – only a very urgent thing is worth mobile- connection.  
  
"What is it, Felix?"  
  
"You won't believe! I've found a test in Angie's room!"  
  
"Umm, did she get a bad mark? And what are YOU doing in her room? It's her territory." Predator's territory. I'm already close to the beach, Clarice thought. Sooner or later I have to leave the car.  
  
"I went in to take Kitaro CD. And it's not a test from school."  
  
"Then what is it, Felix? Try to be quick!"  
  
"It seems Angie is going to have a baby."  
  
... They both heard a car crash, but none of them paid attention. That happens everyday. Sorry for those people. Maybe Lady Luck would save someone...  
  
And Angie was still singing...  
  
"Did I disappoint you Or leave a bad taste in your mouth You act like you never had love And you want me to go without Well it's...  
  
Too late Tonight To drag the past out into the light We're one, but we're not the same We get to Carry each other Carry each other One..." 


	7. For life

It's me again. Told you it was the SIXTH chapter /grin/. Anyway, thank you for all you reviews. Remember, guys, it's fiction. And I understood I certainly need a prequel to "Last joy". With the explanation how come Clarice became "sociable", because she didn't really. And Angie. I told you she is naughty, didn't I? She is smart, yes. And all this happened to her just because she was TOO smart. So! If you want a prequel – just tell me, 'cause it actually was in the original story... only needs a translation. Now thank you again. Next time I want to know e-mails of every person who submits a review. Because I didn't get the point of reading aloud. And now I can't contact the person who could explain it to me.  
  
D/N: still the same.  
  
A/N: I owe no songs and poems in this chapter. Still at your service if you wanna know the author.  
  
Chapter 7. For life.  
  
"I wish I played like Goya." Angie said. "Someday I will."  
  
"Where's your mother? She's late." Hannibal chuckled.  
  
"Still want to play?" Angie pur the guitar away. "Maybe there's no need to. She loves you, I know."  
  
"Then why did she run away from me?" Hannibal grinned. "Thrill me with your wisdom."  
  
"Every decision she might have made was wrong, don't you think so?" Angie replied.  
  
They remained silent for a while. Then Angie broke it.  
  
"It's another awkward situation, isn't it? I wish my cell-phone rang."  
  
And it rang.  
  
"Who is it now?" Angie murmured peevishly. "Damn, it's Felix. Shall I answer?"  
  
"Why not," Hannibal answered. "You said it's no use of playing games, so don't play. Tell him we're coming."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Angie... Angie... come as soon as you can!"  
  
"Felix, calm down and tell me what happened."  
  
"Your mother... Your mother... and I'm the only one to blame!..."  
  
"What's happened with her?"  
  
And while listening to Felix's explanations she was getting pale, it seemed for the one single moment she would faint, but she managed to compose herself. Hannibal, though, got worried. Something happened with his Clarice.  
  
"Well?" it seemed he'd lost his famous patience for the moment. "What happened?"  
  
"We're going to the hospital." Angie replied. "The game isn't over yet. Got the car?"  
  
"Tell me what happened first."  
  
"This kind of information is not for those, who can get nervous."  
  
"But I can get impatient. You'd better not see me impatient."  
  
"Uhum, I know. You'll never harm me – I know that too. Mum's in hospital. In intensive care. Felix told her 'bout me. She was in a shock. Unfortunately that time she was driving. And a car crash as a result. Now shall we go? Got a car?"  
  
Angie swore. She really underestimated the intensity of his feelings for her mother. She watched him getting deadly pale, eyes becoming black in a mixture of anger, pain and worry. "Come on, father," she rested her hand on his shoulder. "The sooner we are there the sooner we know more. Maybe she needs us more than ever right now. And we are just sitting here, playing our intellectual games."  
  
"I don't have a car. I mean I parked it near your place." At that moment Hannibal understood why Angie insisted on expressing thoughts shortly. Words really take much more time than anything in this world.  
  
"Have a driving license with you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Let's go then."  
  
Two minutes after they were driving in an Alpha-Romeo. Angie had the keys. When he asked her about it, she answered there was no need to worry. It was just an extra car for her own purposes. "Mum once had to pay fine for overgoing the speed limit in this car. Felix insisted she should change it – just because it didn't bring her luck."  
  
"Knowing your mother I can't quite understand her sentimental attechment to those guys. She wasn't very friendly those days when we were having our game of "who-catches-who". Hannibal sighed. "She was polite, courteous, frank – but not friendly."  
  
"Mmm, polite, courteous, frank... Don't you think that "friendly" is the complex element, consisting of those three in the right proportion?" Hannibal felt she was teasing him – and wondered why she remained so calm.  
  
"Don't ever panic." Angie read his thoughts. "Mum told me not to panic, no matter what happens. Panic is killing the mind."  
  
"What book was it taken from?" he wondered.  
  
"I am certain the name won't tell you much." Angie replied.  
  
"Maybe. But I remember it was fear who was supposed to kill the mind. Errare humanum est, you know."  
  
"Sed non licet in errore perseverare."  
  
She KNEW Latin. He looked at her. A very interesting combination of his and Clarice's features in one small body, who was ready to give the new life to someone... And his thoughts returned to Clarice. Intensive care. Hmm, if only he could take her away from this place. He could treat her better, he was sure.  
  
But now he had two girls to care of. And the smaller one needed more attention. She'd managed to stay calm so far, but what would happen next? Her baby... Another new being he didn't want to lose. Hannibal signed and thought that if he were another guy, he would pray. Pray for Angie, ask God to give her strength, think about her baby. After all she inherited his calmness, didn't she?  
  
And then he saw a tear. He was concentrating on the road, but this tear made him turn his head again. A single tear making his way through her cheek, to her chin, only to fall on the neck, very close to collar-bones. A single tear – and nothing more.  
  
"Don't try to blame yourself." They both said at the same time. And then she started to cry. She couldn't stand it anymore. After all she's only a girl, Hannibal thought. A strong one, but a girl. She didn't weep, she didn't let a single sound escape from her mouth, but the sea of tears almost hid her fine face.  
  
At last they were there. The hospital. Angie didn't manage to walk calmly, she ran, as if two minutes could change anything. The young woman at the receptionist's desk told Angie she could go and speak to doctor Byrne, even showed her to him. Hannibal, who as always preferred not to be noticed, followed her quietly. However, when he saw the doctor, he relaxed a bit. New generation, he won't remember me, Hannibal thought.  
  
"Your mother? Yes, two broken ribs, a broken leg, thumb on the left hand is almost torn apart. She's having an operation in twenty minutes.  
  
A thumb for a thumb, Hannibal thought. "Is she conscious?"  
  
"No," doctor replied. "And we actually don't expect her getting conscious very quickly..."  
  
"Can we see her?" Angie interrupted.  
  
"No, not yet. Maybe after an operation. You'd better go home now and come in four or five hours. We have a lot of work to do. Now if you please excuse me..."  
  
Doctor left. Angie looked at Hannibal and asked: "What are we going to do now? I don't want to leave."  
  
"Me either," he replied. Fourteen years – and they are at the same building, he and his small Clarice. And there's nothing he could help her. Only sit and wait...  
  
"Only sit and wait," Angie repeated aloud.  
  
And they sat and waited. This was going to be a long day.  
  
"Errare himanum est, sed non licet in errore perseverare" is a complete quotation, most of people know onlt the first part. It means: It's human to mistake, but it's not allowed to stay in the mistake. (word for word). 


	8. Free

Um, yeah, repeating D/N. Well, it's me again, bringing you another chapter. Again, want to thank those folks, who reviewed – Saavik, Hanniballover1181, ar-men66, Nora (whose e-mail I want) and the rest of the fellows, who are reading and following this small insanity.  
  
Chapter 8. Free.  
  
From the Darkness into the Light, repeating myself in the endless circles of lives, living my life again, breathing again, billions of made breaths, inhale, exhale...  
  
Why? He's not there – and never will be. Somehow he let me go, let me escape...  
  
I did this choice. Now I have to choose again. To breathe – or not to breathe. If I'm not breathing, my heart isn't working. My heart is too tired. I loved my father – and he left me. I loved Hannibal – and preferred to leave him before he does. I love Angie. But now she has someone else to love. Why to live?  
  
Darkness comes after the light. Like night and day, death and birth, endless chain of events, people, places. I was in the cage of my own body all the time. Now I'm not, but something holds me here. Something which is very important... if only I could understand!...  
  
..."D' you realise there's no chance for her? It's useless!"  
  
"No it's not. She will wake up." The girl's voice got much colder. "Doctor Martin, we pay money – you do your job. If she stays in the same condition till the end of her life – it's a bad luck. But we will provide her the chance to live again."  
  
"She's been in coma for six months already. Ms. Mofet, I'm sure if your mother could fight for her life she would. But now she isn't able..."  
  
'And that's why she's here. Doctor Hazelmann, do understand – we are going to wait. No matter if it takes ten months or thirty years."  
  
Hannibal looked at Angie with tenderness is his eyes. She was so fragile, his daughter, so small! But she was strong. Even stronger than him. After that long day, when doctor Byrne finally met with them and brought bad news, she hasn't cried. Instead of this she has been soothing him every night. Sometimes it was Mischa, who visited his nightmares, sometimes Clarice. And Angie was always there, when he awoke, his head on her lap. She was ready to bring him water, play the guitar, calm him down by her presence.  
  
However it was getting harder for her. Her pregnancy was proceeding hard. She was too young to have a baby, she knew it herself, but she's made her decision. How many sacrifices could she make for her family, this Creature?  
  
She was thrown away from her gymnasium, they had to move to the north of Italy. She knew Italian worse than French, but she was studying. They lived in a rather small – for Hannibal, but not for Angie – cottage near the lake. Twenty minutes by car – and one could be in a private clinics, where Clarice was lying in a huge bed, her body covered by a net of wires; she was unable to breathe herself, lived a life of a plant. However they both felt they had no right for losing hope. Angie was spending her every day in the hospital – from ten in the morning till three p.m. Hannibal was there every day from four p.m. to eight. On Sundays they spent the whole day there – not letting nurses do their job, but doing it themselves – dressing her, washing, combing her hair. Hannibal was surprised to find several grey strands in the cloud of her long auburn hair. Angie caught him in one of those moments – and said in her usual sarcastic manner: "You have your own grey hair, still enough for not to search for them in my mother's head."  
  
"My wife's," he said then. She made face, but then suddenly became very serious. "What if she wakes up and..." She hadn't finished, but Hannibal understood her perfectly.  
  
"It will be her own choice."  
  
"But then I'll have to make the choice," she replied.  
  
"You're staying with her. It's your moral duty, isn't it?"  
  
She sighed. "I love you both. You love each other. It's just your stupid pride, which is the mother of all sins and the rest of bla-bla-bla from the Bible."  
  
"It's more than love I guess, that's why you are not together," she said after a few minutes of silence. And that's when Hannibal understood where The Creature ends and Angie begins. Soon we have to face up another problem, he thought. Is there in her brilliant mind a place for a new mask called "mother"?  
  
And now she's arguing with the doctor. He will not interfere: if she chose to be a grown-up, she must face all the difficulties this state brings. She copes with it quite good so far.  
  
"The price we pay monthly for keeping her here pays you the whole of your year's salary, leftovers cover the salary of nurses. What's wrong?"  
  
"Well, there are more people in the world..."  
  
"Uhum, and lots of hospitals. I'll call the administration – just to ask for another doctor. You sound too pessimistic for my little son who wants to see his granny conscious."  
  
"Let's go before you get overwhelmed," Hannibal advised. "I'll bring you home to dine."  
  
"I'll return with you," she said.  
  
He cooked the dinner as usual and also as usual didn't let her help. So she had nothing else to do but play her guitar. Guitar weeps instead of my Angie, Hannibal thought. Why hadn't Clarice tell him earlier? Why couldn't he watch his daughter making her first steps, hearing her first words? At least she loves him.  
  
He loved driving when Angie was with him. Even when she was quiet – and she seldom laughed. Smile left her face, he thought. It left my face too. No news is good news – we both got used to that.  
  
Clarice was beautiful, as always. And lifeless.What if suddenly this clinics wouldn't be provided with electricity for a minute? Then Clarice would be dead. That's what the doctor wanted to say. Clarice is dead, her soul wants to leave her body, but we're holding it here in our egoistic wishes.  
  
"No," he felt Angie's hand in his. "Don't ever let this thought come into your mind. She is going to wake up. She just needs some sleep. Mum was too tired, so she went away for a while to rest. She'll wake up. She has to."  
  
"No one owes you their life." Hannibal replied. "She wants to be free and we're keeping her in the cage."  
  
"You gave up? Angie got stunned. "I can't believe it!"  
  
"Could you play? I need to get rid of those thoughts," he asked her. This would be difficult, he thought. Not only because of Angie, but because of me. My little Clarice lies here, her body is completely mine, but it's not her body which I want. It's her soul, which I wanted to imprison and still want now. I can't let her go, neither can Angie, But we have to."  
  
The sea it swells like a sore head  
  
And the night it is aching  
  
Two lovers lie with no sheets on their bed  
  
And the day it is breaking  
  
On rainy days we'd go swimming out  
  
On rainy days swimming in the sound  
  
On rainy days we'd go swimming out  
  
You're in my mind  
  
All of the time  
  
I know it's not enough  
  
If the sky can crack  
  
There must be some way back  
  
For love and only love  
  
Angie's voice changed a bit, but was still beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful than ever. And he has come up with a decision. This will be the last night he's spending together with his little Clarice. He had a daughter, and his responcibility is not to let her sink in her self-pity for the mother, who seems to be already dead.  
  
He brought Angie home and, assuring she was sleeping, went back to the clinics. It was ten minutes to midnight and he wanted to spend them with her. Then he will free her. At last.  
  
All good things for those who wait. R&R. 


	9. Breathe

Hi all! I'm here again to give you one more chapter of "Last Joy..." I know, I could write it sooner, but I was near the sea for 2 days – and no access to computer. The song in chapter 8 is "Electrical Storm" by "U2". Melody is even more beautiful than words /smile/. What is going to happen to our poor Clarice? Ah, D/N still the same...  
  
Chapter 9. Breathe.  
  
Hannibal was sitting on her bed, inhaling her scent, afraid to exhale, as if wanting to keep it all in himself. During the last six months he studied her body and knew it all – from the nails on her thumbs to the last eyelash...  
  
She was exquisite. She always was. And he was glad to hear from Angie she hadn't had lovers. Not if she couldn't hide them, it just wasn't her style. Like Angie said. Always Angie interfering. It seemed like he had this girl inside his head. Always with him, always ready to enlighten him with her wisdom.  
  
But now it wasn't the time for Angie. It was the time for him and his little Clarice only. He was watching her, perfectly understanding he can't let her live like that anymore. Deep inside my little deep-roller needs release. She needs to discover there's no glass ceiling in the sky, so she could roll deep – not falling on the groung but reaching pure blue sky, sky which always looked to him like her own eyes.  
  
When did that "always" begin? He hadn't noticed. That very day in the asylum. He can still hear her light steps. Tic-toc-tic-toc... And a fear mixed with excitement – she was like a little cub, she grew up – and still was a cub, no matter she was getting disappointed in everything she devoted her life to. Her blue eyes – when he first saw them. Eyes that could be the lake on a sunny day – willing to welcome anybody to sink in. Eyes which were a storm on the sea, a neverending fight between Clarice and the rest of the world.  
  
Her voice. Gentle, soothing, making me feeling relaxed and excited both, he thought. Her inimitable Southern accent. Her expensive bag... Like she was going to a date, not to an asylum. And her cheap shoes, giving in a white trash.If only he could speak to her now, to see how she had changed during all those years!...  
  
And the smell of her blood. The only smell which could draw him over the edge if he ever let his self-control go. When he first inhaled it he regretted the glass wall is between them. He imagined he could lick her blood and feel its cherry taste on his lips. Till she screamed with pleasure.  
  
He made her scream with pleasure, though. The remembrance of that night made him shiver with lust. She was holding him tight, crying for more. Only that night every part of her was at his disposal.  
  
Her hair. When he first saw Clarice, her hair was short. Hannibal liked her with long hair, it gave her charm, femininity. Auburn, the colour of sunrise. The colour of the fire in her eyes, when she climaxed.  
  
Her mind. She was always clever, how come she decided to develop her great abilities only after the birth of her daughter? Angie said it was a competition. Was it? Or it was an attempt to be like him? To be closer to him... No, Hannibal thought. She could ask him to come so many times... but she didn't. She preferred to be without him.  
  
But would he come? Angie said... why Angie again? It seemed their daughter had both best and worst of their features. She said it was Clarice's "stupid pride". Well, he thought, and where would my pride be if I received a note from her, where she would be asking me to come?  
  
He didn't know. All those fourteen years he couldn't live a day without a mere thought of her. Her decision was quite sensible, but he expected her back when she was thrown away from FBI. Like being with two lovers, the thought. When one denies a man, he runs to another. But she was stronger than that. She stood till the end to prove her decision was right. What would she do if he didn't help her with money?  
  
What would his daughter be now?  
  
Hannibal looked at Clarice's hands. Those hands killed some people, he thought. She would prefer to forget this. My baby's on the run, killing bad guys... and saving her precious little spring lambs, who can't run away themselves. His Clarice was the one who always knew what is right and what is wrong.  
  
Carefully, trying not to touch the wires, he leaned and hissed her cheek. He saw tears running down her cheek. He kissed the corner of her lips and remembered that once these lips were soft, opened for him, welcoming. He kissed her neck, right where the pulse was beating. Now it's beating artificially. He kissed her fingers. Fingers which once ran along his body, stoke his cheeks, little nails dug into his neck.  
  
Even now he was too courteous to proceed. He couldn't do it without her allowance, but she couldn't give him one. It was so wrong... He should let her free.  
  
But he couldn't. His memories and a strong hope for seeing her alive were fighting with his pity. He should let her escape from the cage of her body, let her go to where her little limpid soul belonged.  
  
Then came the moment. He turned the main switch off, let her free of all the wires, kissed her lips one last time and went away. Pain crushed his heart, his hands were shaking, he couldn't believe what he had done. With the great effort Hannibal forced himself ot to look at her. He closed the door.  
  
And the sound of the closing door muffled another sound, so soft and quiet, that only experienced ear could catch it. And it definetly wasn't an ear of the man being in a great sorrow.  
  
The sound of the air being inhaled.  
  
At last it happened. She understood she was free to leave. She could go back to the place where her soul belonged. She didn't worry whether it could be Hell or Heaven. She only knew she was happy to leave. She always needed action, motion, they brought her peace.  
  
And then she inhaled. Hell, Heaven or both elements of them on Earth. The taste of air was wonderful, and the ability to move was fabulous. She exhaled. Her lungs were working.  
  
Then she opened her eyes. What happened?  
  
How long she was lying awake in the dark? She didn't know.Her body regained her old reflexes too quickly for her to realise it. A voice deep inside her head told her she must get outta here. As soon as she could. And she did it. In search fot the clothes she founnd a pair of ner jeans and a T-shirt with the inscription: "I'm with stupid". Angie, she thought with tenderness. Who's Angie? Her daughter...  
  
Not remembering how she escaped from the building throught the staff entrance. She tried to avoid people – and succeeded. When she went out of the building she sawit was already a night. And no buildings around except this one. The hospital, she thought.  
  
Then she saw a man wearing white fedora, getting into a car. Alpha-Romeo. Her car, she thought again instinctively. And who is the man using her car so freely?  
  
Hannibal, she thought. And suddenly she felt a great need to call him, to let him take care of her, to kiss him, to let him take her away from this terrible place. She tried to cry out his name, but only a slight whisper came out. He, of course, didn't even look a her, started the engine and drove away by his car – her car!  
  
She stood there not knowing what to do. Then she understood there's no other way than to go along the road. Her bare feet hadn't made a slight sound when she moved from the entrance.  
  
Where was she going? To follow this man? To come to her daughter? Where was she? And – who was she?  
  
Suddenly the knowledge dawned on her. Her name was Clarice.  
  
Now, be patient and you will deserve the last chapter /grin/. Thank you for all of your kind reviews.  
  
Protégé. 


	10. The Last Joy of the Lifetime

Good I-don't-know-what, dear readers, today I am going to give you the last chapter of "Last Joy of the Lifetime". Thank you all for reviewing, for all those kind words I've heard. It's time to return the characters I've borrowed to the person who realy owes them. Thank you all again.  
  
D/N the same.  
  
A/N This chapter is rated R for some brutality. Please be aware.  
  
Chapter 10. The Last Joy of the Lifetime.  
  
Angie was asleep when he came back. Hannibal stood at the door of his daughter's bedroom to look at her. Now she and her baby were everything Hannibal had. How funny, he thought. Lady Fate took her life instead of mine, to show me no one can disguise her.  
  
He felt no pain – only a strange emptiness. Hannibal thought he had to get some sleep before sun rises. Then somehow he had to explain Angie. That was the worst part.  
  
She was walking. She never felt so weak – and never was so certain she can't stop walking. Going down the road – somewhere where she belonged. To Hannibal. Clarice was getting cold, but her lost memory was returning with this coolness of the night. Angie. Pregnant. Left alone in this world. Or... not alone. With her father.  
  
Or she had been in hospital and they both settled nearby to be close to her. But how long had she been there? Suddenly she stopped and looked at her hair. Too long she thought. Fuck. Too long. She must have been there at least for several months.  
  
Angie. If she was under Hannibal's supervision, everything was ok. He's a doctor, Clarice thought. Not an accoucheur, but he would have done a good job treating her to long walks, regular meal...  
  
Meal. Meat. Human flesh. No, he couldn't have done this. Clarice shook her head in disbelief. If this girl had been courteous enough... But somehow she knew Angie wouldn't.  
  
She could only pray that worst things she imagined didn't happen.  
  
Hours of tiring walk – and she reached the house. Clarice felt no doubt who this house belonged to. It was all about style, Angie told her. She was small, but her high intelligence made some people shiver. Six years old girl came to her mother and said: "Mum, you shouldn't wear skirts, they visibly bind your moves." Later, when Angie grew up, she explained she needed only one look at the person to understand what makes his lifestyle, what type of things he or she loves. This time it was objective. Angie loved small houses, Hannibal loved Renaissanse. Angie loved trees, Hannibal loved water. And – was it her cursed Alpha-Romeo standing by the porch? Oh, of course. They didn't take off the sticker in the right corner of the back glass: "Speed limit 200 miles." That was a very special one she brought from her business trip to Las Vegas four years ago... Time was always passing so quickly!...  
  
She entered the house through the kitchen window, which, to her surprise, was ajar. Those little doves are too careless, she thought. Gotta remind them that even a fugitive, Top Ten criminal, and his daughter might be robbed.  
  
Clarice checked the leftovers from supper and didn't find any meat at all. Strange, she thought, Angie never was a vegetarian. And hated fava beans. She smiled at the thought. They would both be upstairs.  
  
Living room – and the piano in it. How lecterish, she thought. She wondered if Angie told him she hated piano. And drawing. And obeying. One strong will against another – and they seemed to live here in a fragile peace, waiting for her to wake up.  
  
Clarice quietly went up the stairs trying not to make a slight noise, however, without success. She hoped only that those two won't hear her moans involuntarily escaping from her mouth with every step. She felt like she was walking on blades, and only her iron will made her climb higher and higher going further ad further until she reached the open door to Angie's bedroom.  
  
My sweet angel, she thought. When you were small I looked at you and saw him. When you started to speak I was hearing him almost in every word you said. I couldn't separate you and your father. Forgive me for this if you ever felt that.  
  
Angie had her nightlight on. Maybe she fell asleep reading, Carice thought. She often did it when she was smaller. But now she ought to care 'bout the baby. Not good...  
  
Clarice entered the room. Everything here was so familiar – in a certain period of time Angie made this four-wall human cage hers. The posters of her favourite actors fully showed her girlish nature, but the huge amount of the books and idioms in different languages hanging on the walls on huge sheets of paper showed another part of her nature. Clarice had no name for it, as she still didn't have the name for Hannibal Lecter. Hmm, that handwriting... They're co-operating. At least this is good.  
  
Clarice intended to switch off the nightlight, but then she thought of her daughter, who was a light-sleeper. She definetly needs no shock right now. Let her sleep in peace.  
  
Hey, what's that? She picked up a book from Angie's night-table. "Last Joy of the Lifetime". Short stories. Written by an author with the strange name she even couldn't pronounce. Pretty crazy, she thought. Angie was reading a lot, but she preferred reading to study, not for fun.  
  
The story was very short. It was telling about a man who had a heart-attack twice and knew he couldn't survive. His friend gave him last hope – the address of a doctor who didn't count any disease to be mortal. The doctor was a woman, much older than the patient, she cured him by allowing him to do whatever he wanted – drink wine, eat good food, run – and providing him a company which he lacked in his family. It took him two years to get well completely. On his last encounter she gave him the amulet made of wood, so popular in the country they both living in. That very old wooden amoulet, she said, was given to me by a man, who helped me to survive after my husband's death. He said she was his Last Joy of the Lifetime. "And so are you for me," said the woman. Three more years passed until he remembered he should visit his doctor – but he was already too late. She died.  
  
Right at the end of the story there was a sheet of paper, written all over with her daughter's handwriting. "Just like Mum and Dad. If he hadn't heard her voice, he would have been already dead. And now it's too late for him to visit her. Will she ever wake up? I think, no. It's an illusion we're both sharing, but one of us should take all the fault and set her free."  
  
So I've been in coma, Clarice thought. How long? She looked at her daughter – and saw the scaring truth. About six months, maybe more. And they were patient for all that time. They care for me. A slight smile bore in the corner of her lip. And then she heard the scream.  
  
He walked into his memory palace. It looked so glorious outside – but he was terrified by what he saw inside. Devastation. Scaring devastation, walls grew up till he became so little he couldn't reach the door-knobs. No, he thought. I'm the one controlling My own palace. By a supernatural forse he brought things back to normal. He obviously needed some rest.  
  
He entered the room devoted to Florence. But something was wrong. He opened his favourite books, looked at the drawings, sights, listening to music, inhaling his favourite scents of the town – no use. Blank white papers, absolute silence.  
  
Scared to death he ran to Clarice's room. To see her there. He wanted to see her at Chesapeake, in the kitchen, her hair stuck in the refrigerator. And he saw her. Calm down, he said - –nd she turned her face to him. There was no face at all. Just a piece of skin, covering the place where her beautiful eyes, stubborn chin, high cheekbones and sweet red lips should be. There weren't any.  
  
Then she began transforming. And in a second he saw a little girl, logn black hair, maroon eyes, delicate features. Mischa, who was haunting him. He failed to protect her... "And you failed to protect Clarice," said the voice from the behind.  
  
Angie. With the knife. "You're the Cannibal. You're the murdered. Maybe I should do it myself before you do it to me." And she hit herself with the knife right in the navel, killing both herself and the baby...  
  
He couldn't stand it. He screamed.  
  
And immediately felt soothing hands on his head. They put his head to the lap, as usual, stoking his hair, his face. "It's all right, I'm here, it's all right."  
  
It was very much all right. But it wasn't Angie. Not her scent. It was a smell of strawberries, mixed with the scent of hospital and a fresh night... It couldn't be. But it was her voice, soothing him, her hands stroking his cheek, her lips finally touching his forehead, again after fourteen years... A miracle. An angel visited him before going to heaven.  
  
"Stay with me," he asked and looked at her face with the greatest hope he could express. "Will you?"  
  
"Sure," she answered. He rose and in one quick movement laid her on the bed beside him. Real or unreal – no matter. She will be mine till sunrise. Till she carefully flees to the place where all angels play. Till she leaves him alone again.  
  
And sunrise found them naked, asleep, lying on the bed, embracing, their lips close, their breath united, their heartbeat at the same rhythm. Through all the pain and sorrows they both found the last joy of their, now shared, lifetime.  
  
FIN. 


End file.
